


Thunderings of Justice

by jesterlady



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anya's feelings after Hell's Bells and ending with Entropy.  I was reminded of the speech in Triangle and cursed Joss for being the planner of destruction even while building up our hopes.  I thought Anya deserved a little rant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderings of Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own BTVS. Some lines are from the show. The title is by John Bunyan

_“Xander? If you ever decide to go, I want a warning. You know, big flashing red lights, and-and-and one of those clocks that counts down like a bomb in a movie? And there's a whole bunch of-of colored wires, and I'm not sure which is the right one to cut, but I guess the green one, and then at the last second 'No! The red one!' and then click, it stops, with three-tenths of a second left, and you don't leave. Like that, okay?” -From Triangle_

Anya had asked for a warning. It was very specific, too. She could recall the time, the date, and the level of orgasm before she had asked. She always knew that Xander’s memory was not as good as hers. She was the one who could make excuses in that area; after all, she had a thousand years on him, with so many more things to recall. Yet she could remember five hundred year old events with crystal clarity and asking him to remember that she asked him to take out the trash was like trying to get an Ouricha demon to shut up when you were pulling out its intestines.

Xander hadn’t remembered her request. He’d had time to think about it. It wasn’t the demon who had given him fear about being married, no, that had been there all along. She didn’t know why he proposed if all he was going to do was leave at the last minute. She should have seen the signs like his refusal to tell anyone they were engaged, the song they sang when they were musically influenced, or his constant references to his father. But she hadn’t noticed. She’d been so excited, so happy that a thousand years of proof had finally been proved wrong, so caught up in planning the wedding of her dreams to the man of her dreams.

She was newly human and didn’t understand the way humans worked. They relied on an intricate series of lies and half truths and feelings and social customs that were an illusion. It didn’t make sense to her and no matter how hard she tried or how hard he tried to force it on her, it didn’t stick. But she was okay with that. She was willing to put up with his disapproval, with his embarrassment, and with his friends making her feel unwanted. She got orgasms and capitalism and a place to belong, a place to exist. Mostly, she got him. She got to laugh at his jokes and soothe his ego and excite him and argue with him and eat half his pancakes and live in his beautiful apartment and just be with him.

That was the point, wasn’t it? She’d lived long enough to know that the relationships that worked were the ones where the two parties involved realized that nobody was perfect and that marriage was hard and they had decided to stick around anyway, to work at it, and accepted the bad things because they wanted the good things more. She’d decided that and she’d thought Xander had, too, she really had. But he hadn’t. He’d been worrying and hiding things and going to Buffy and Willow instead of her. He’d been drinking and obsessing and not dealing. Maybe she should’ve said something, but she’d been so busy and happy and hadn’t he told her not to be so blunt and pushy?

She wouldn’t be blamed for this. She would not feel bad. She was wronged. She deserved vengeance, but she loved him so much. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. Humanity was horrible. Demons were so easy. You pissed them off, you died, and nobody’s feelings were hurt. Yet here she was, raw and aching, and nothing but the fact that now she wouldn’t live forever was solace to her. But then what would happen? What if she froze into an agonized state for eternity? Would that be her punishment for her time as a demon, for all the men she’d maimed, all the carnage she’d inflicted? She’d never felt sorry for it before, other than to understand that it wasn’t the best way to handle things, but now the thought terrified her and she didn’t have anyone to turn to.

Her family was dead so long ago that their memories couldn’t help and even as she felt the pull back into the vengeance fold, she knew that its comfort was a hollow one. She had no one and it was his fault. They were his friends, not hers. She could tell they felt sorry for her, most of them anyway. She could tell they knew he was in the wrong, but they wouldn’t hurt him, they wouldn’t say anything against him. He was their friend and he had their hearts and she was just the annoyingly literal, ex-demon girl that he’d picked up and they’d had to endure. 

So, he didn’t have a right to complain. He said he still loved her. He said he was in pain. He said that she was the one who wanted to be apart. If he had come to her, if he had told her about the doubts he had, about the fears over becoming his father, she would have stayed. She would have gone with him to the human counseling, she would’ve stopped buying alcohol, and she would’ve postponed the wedding that he’d initiated in the first place. But he obviously didn’t trust her because the day had come and he’d failed the test. He’d walked away, leaving her to face the music and she didn’t think she could ever forgive him for that.

She’d thought she’d walk with him until the day death parted them. Now death seemed to stalk her, daring her to curse him. Yet she couldn’t do it. She’d tried, but it never seemed to work and not just because his precious Scoobies wouldn’t help. She just loved him too much and she hated him for doing that to her. She was Anyanka and she’d rained down blood before he was ever born and now she was just as much his slave as before. But she wouldn’t allow herself to give in. She had to move on. She had to do something. If only for a night.

Spike had been thrust in front of her and he was hurting, too. He was in her position, scorned and mocked by those who were the lowest of the low. He was forsaken, used, abused, unforgiven, excluded, and unloved. He was her equal and he was the only one who could feel what she was feeling. She believed him when he said that they two who should have died were the only ones who knew how to live. She couldn’t believe she’d never thought of it before. She pitied him as she pitied herself and, for a brief flash of time, they were a solace to each other. It would never be enough.

Xander and Buffy came on the scene then and they were so indignant and self righteous. She wanted to kill both of them and if Spike had only made a wish she would have, but Spike was focused on his own death and he would’ve welcomed the blow if his own deserter hadn’t stopped it. Buffy walked away and Anya didn’t care. Spike faded into the shadows and Anya bled for him a little. Xander began to follow and Anya didn't try to stop him.

“How could-” he started to say in frustration, but she interrupted him.

“You gave me back my freedom,” she said. “You don’t have the right to be upset.”

“But I am and you knew I would be.”

“And you knew I would be upset when you walked out, but you still did it, still ran away.”

“Ahn, I tried to explain, I-”

“You wanted me to go back to being the unequal sexual conquest who you could feel good about because she was pretty and unusual. But I’m old, Xander, I’m ancient, and I know more about these things than you ever will. I was new to this world and you should’ve cared for me, but you punished me for being different and you made me feel inferior and you ignored the one thing that I asked of you. I wanted your love and I wanted your confidence. I wanted to be told if you were going to leave and you didn’t give that to me. So go back to Willow and tell her all about how I abused you and you took the moral high ground because you aren’t welcome here anymore.”

His face was something she wanted to rip off and carry with her as a trophy. She had hid behind literalism and demonology and money and tried not to care that what she showed of herself was abused, but now she was a demon of wronged women with all the force of a woman twice tricked. Shakespeare had once written a little something about scorned women and hell’s fury. Xander just didn’t know the true story behind that involved her. Well, Anya did and that was the whole problem. She’d given him a chance and like all men, he’d failed. It had taken a thousand years for her to forget the first time. She was fresh out of forgiveness. She was all about the vengeance. Her love for him would grow cold; it had to, even if she had to wait another thousand years.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Thunderings of Justice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709292) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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